


Give Me Love

by wartransmission



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Death But Not Really, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a common mistake when humans call him out as donning a bow and arrow. He prefers swords, sharp and swift in attacking, which is appropriate in his line of work.</p><p>They call him Cupid. Others call him Eros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in a universe similar to the one [this story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660975) is in.
> 
> Inspired by Ed Sheeran's [Give Me Love](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOjdXSrtUxA).

Dirk has always been the Prince of Heart for as long as he remembered himself existing. The Heir of Breath, the Giver of Life, had been the first person he’d seen when he’d opened amber eyes to the violet and pink-hued sky, and it was the last he’d seen of the other when he brought himself to a stand with his weapon in his hand.

It’s a common mistake when humans call him out as donning a bow and arrow. He prefers swords, sharp and swift in attacking, which is appropriate in his line of work.

They call him Cupid. Others call him Eros.

He is Love, he is Passion, and he is Heartache. He is the smile on a lover’s lips as hands are held and fingers are twined together, he is the tears that fall when a loved one passes away, and he is the quivering heart as it _thump-thumps_ in its human’s chest from anger at being left for another.

His job would have been difficult, had another person taken his place.

But there is only one him, one Dirk, and there is no one else more suited to being the Prince of Heart than him. Him with his endless patience, his calculations, his eyes gifted with the vision of people’s hearts.

Yet there is one question, just one, that always remains unanswered in his mind.

_Why is it that he can’t feel his own heart?_

 

\-------------------------

 

Most call him Cupid. Others, Eros.

Jake calls him Dirk.

 

He had been filled with ire at a certain point in time (far more often than he should be, but he is not a being that cannot err), furious to the point that he’d taken a stab at a woman’s heart instead of giving her a gentle nudge. She became obsessed with the man she’d first laid eyes on, the stab a deep wound to her heart that she could not do anything else but seek to fill the hole with this one man’s love, his affection, his attention.

He broke her heart, which was a well enough thing.

Dirk had planned to give her another love, understanding well enough that humans needed it without question. But he stopped himself once he noticed the still gaping hole in her heart, the threads frayed with heartbreak and fear. She would never love again.

That is, until a hand tapped her on her shoulder.

The hole in her heart had decreased considerably at that one touch, a resigned sigh escaping her lips as she turned her head up, a little less worn down from before.

“Go on then,” the brunet who had tapped her shoulder said, smiling at him. “Do your work- with a little less fury, I’m thinking.”

He had gone on auto-pilot at that, tapping his sword gently on her heart until it began to heal. The relief had settled on his chest then with ease, his grip on his sword loosening somewhat as he finally turned his gaze up to the brunet who had spoken to him.

“Name’s Jake,” he spoke instantly once he noticed the gaze on him, a grin on his face as he held out a hand, “Page of Hope. Fancy meeting the Prince of Heart around these parts, honestly!”

“You know me?” He asked, quirking a brow as he accepted the hand and shook it with a firm grip.

“You’re notorious for leaving a trail of broken hearts in your wake, sir,” Jake said, laughing as he squeezed Dirk’s hand in his. “But no matter, you always manage to fix it somehow. It’s a beaut in its own way, I’d say.”

He smirked, saying, “I’m glad you agree.”

 

For a long time, neither of them noticed the length of time they’d spent gripping each others’ hands.

It didn’t matter much, in the end.

 

\-----------------------

 

“You give them a tap on the head or shoulder and they…acquire hope.”

“That’s essentially it,” Jake concedes with a sheepish grin, laughing when he notices the grimace on Dirk’s face. “Well, I do have my guns but that’s beside the point. I don’t care to use them on anyone unless it’s a requirement.”

“You dislike violence?”

“Not generally, no,” Jake admits with a purse of his lips. “I’m quite keen on a good scuffle. But I do think using such a weapon against unknowing civilians seems a bit much.”

“Such a saint, mister English,” Dirk says, chuckling when Jake slaps him on the knee with a huff. “Your restraint is admirable.”

“Your lack of it confounds me,” Jake shoots back, “especially when you look like such a cool dude. Who’d have thought that the Prince of Heart himself has issues regarding self-control?”

Dirk rolls his eyes at Jake, settling for giving the brunet a light punch on the shoulder before going back to business.

He doesn’t say anything against Jake’s words, nor does he agree with them.

He doesn’t say, _You see me losing control, but all I see is calculated destruction. Love, joy- they are nothing without tribulations, without the pain and sorrow to make the happiness so much sweeter._

_I cannot fault myself for wanting to see chaos, to see pain._

_I don’t have a heart with which to feel any of it for myself, anyway._

 

\--------------------

 

It takes a long while before Dirk notices the difference in his pickings.

There are no more hearts torn apart by his sword, nor is there the bitterness that he’d once enjoyed in his targets. There is only happiness, relief because of reciprocated feelings, contentment- there is only _hope._ It barely needs effort to conclude that it’s because of a certain Page.

But there comes an occasion where he will find someone of equal shades of blond as him, and he will carve a hole in his chest. He doesn’t bother to note how his chosen always end up falling for green-eyed brunets, doesn’t bother to think on why he finds it so fascinating whenever they both end up with broken hearts. He only watches with a subtle interest, sword at his side, amber eyes watching as tears fall and heartbreak is born.

Although he doesn’t want to bother, he can’t help from realizing that all of this only happens whenever the Page of Hope is not around.

 

\-------------------

 

“This one,” Jake crows from the street, a hand on a man’s shoulder as he uses his other hand to wave Dirk over.

“You’re certain?” Dirk asks, raising an eyebrow as he raises his sword, preparing to tap the man’s heart. “You just saw him, I doubt that-”

“I’m your friend, you ought to trust me,” Jake huffs.

 _I’m your friend,_ Dirk hears echoing in his mind, until a smile makes his lips curl upwards. He says, “I do. Trust you, I mean.”

“Then hit him,” Jake insists, “or whatever the hell else you call it. That dadblasted thing you do with your sword.”

“I strike with my sword, Mr. Articulation,” Dirk teases, before using his sword to gently nudge at the man’s heart. It doesn’t take long before brown eyes meet with blue ones, and they smile.

“I make a fine picker with your quarry, don’t I?” Jake says, grinning as he imitates shooting at him with his two hands and gives him a wink. “I do think you’d be better off working with me, your majesty.“

“Such confidence,” Dirk drawls, snickering when Jake attempts to slap at his shoulder, the attempt easily avoided with a step to the side. “Alright, alright, I’ll make you my assistant for today, seeing as you’re probably going to be annoying about it if I say no.”

“Excellent, I’m glad we see eye-to-eye on this,” Jake says, taking his place beside Dirk, before nudging at his shoulder with his own. “You will not regret this, Dirk. I swear on my honor as a Page,” he says solemnly, before returning to his usual smile.

“Surprising, that. One would think that your remaining honor would have already flown away to god knows where,” he responds, before laughing once Jake attempts to tackle him. “No need to tackle your prince, peasant.”

“Oh, I’ll show you who’s a peasant,” Jake warns with a grin.

 

 

It takes a little less time for Dirk to realize that his life as the Prince of Heart is much more enjoyable with Jake by his side.

It’s a welcome realization, although mildly fearsome in its own right.

(Dirk isn’t so sure that he still wants to find a way out of being a Prince, not when it means being separated from Jake.)

 

\----------------------- 

 

It isn’t that difficult to make the decision, in the end. He is far too tired, too worn, too _bored_ to stay. But it is not just that. He wants a heart of his own. He wants the smiles his chosen have, the hands being held, the embraces, the love- he wants to _feel_ something for once. He wants to _live._

How ironic it is, then, that he needs to take his chance with dying.

 

(Humans say that, when faced with certain death, a person usually sees memories of their past, of their loved ones, of their mistakes and their successes.)

 

He thinks of Jake when he takes his sword by the hilt, the sharp tip of it pointing to where his heart would be, if he had one.

He thinks of how he would have loved him, if he had a heart.

He thinks of how he would have let Jake hold him, had his heart any wants of its own.

He thinks of how angry Jake would be, if the brunet could see him now.

 

 _“I’m sorry_ , _”_ he says, not expecting anyone to hear, but there’s a gasp and Jake’s _there_ , shock written all over his face, and Dirk smiles.

He plunges the sword into his chest in one smooth movement, blood spilling on the floor when he does so. There are no flashbacks, no tears or desperate pleas. There are no more words.

 

There is only an apology, and a smile on Dirk’s lips.

 

(Dirk doesn’t hear Jake’s cry when he takes the sword into his own chest, nor does he hear Jake’s pleading.

He doesn’t hear Jake sobbing as his head is cradled in the brunet’s lap, doesn’t hear Jake praying to a god that’s never shown her face, not even once.

 

He doesn’t hear or see how the hope is slowly being taken away from the Page that has always held it in his own hands and heart.)

 

\------------------- 

 

It is sunrise when Dirk Strider opens his eyes to the world again. The sky is orange fading into blue, clouds peeking out from the endless corners of the world as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

Dirk Strider is twenty-three, studying as a student in Engineering, working as a DJ during Friday nights, and he’s happy.

( _Human,_ a voice eerily similar to his whispers.)

“What in the devilfucking dickens are you doing up, Strider,” Jake English grumbles from his side of the bed, an arm blindly reaching out for Dirk, which he avoids with ease and a hidden smile.

“Just thinking,” Dirk admits, laughing as he finally gives in and takes Jake by the wrist, before pressing a kiss onto the brunet’s palm.

“About what?” Jake asks, opening bleary green eyes to look into Dirk’s amber ones. He smiles at the affectionate gesture, before twisting his wrist around until he has a hold on Dirk and tugging him down into a chaste kiss.

“How happy I am,” Dirk says with a smile, lips brushing against Jake’s.

And he is.


End file.
